These months
by ipodder
Summary: Even when they're not being the best versions of each other, separately and together. He still wants her to smile and nod, he wants her eyes to twinkle and for her to never stop talking about him. Brooke/Julian One-Shot. Post 6x24


**A/N: hey guys :) I suddenly felt a wave of inspiration from the current B/Ju and SA news we've been hearing, so I decided to finish this one shot that I've started, but never actually knew what to do with for a week now. Well, here is the finished product, there are some bits I really love and some I'm just kind of 'ugh' with. But anyway, it's quite angsty, and now that I've finished it, I'm thinking that I could have done it better, and tweaked a few things. But anyway, I just wanted to post it anyway, and would really appreciate feedback :)**

**It's not spoiler-ish by any means, but I've taken the concept of it from several spoilers; the long distance issue mostly. Enjoy!**

Sometimes she'll wake up to his dazzling grin, to a string of playfully hushed whispers of _how good last night was_. If she's lucky, she'll receive a few kisses, ones where she just knows that he's putting all his effort into, without having to work hard at all, those are her favourite. Those hot, open mouthed kisses and his wandering hands that reassures her, time and time again without fail, that he's all hers.

Sometimes she'll wake up to a cold side, with a post it left on his pillow, scribbling that he'll _be back in five days_, and that she probably won't miss him at all. But then she'll drag her feet to the bathroom and find the mirror covered in post it notes, with his familiar scribbles of witty love quotes, song lyrics that she doesn't recognize, but loves anyway, and dialogues from films she's never been interested to see.

Until now.

But sometimes, more lately, she wakes up to an almost permanent cold side with nothing at all.

It's times like these that she misses him the most, when he's been gone for two months and she's not weak enough to say that she misses him too much.

She just sighs into the phone and allows herself to admit that she wants him back soon.

Most of the time, he wants to be back with her in Tree Hill, with her during her New York shows.

But sometimes, more lately, she thinks he's more devoted to the relationship between his two lead characters, than _theirs_.

And she's too tired to call him out on it.

They've been together, properly together without the constant push/pull and toying games for six, going on seven months now. He's not surprised they've lasted this long, and to him, it's only the start.

But she's just waiting for another girl, a guy (although she's never been this committed, invested or this _in love_ with anyone else), an accident, the distance or a simple argument to destroy their foundation. She wants to be optimistic, she really does, but given her track record, and how things usually go in Tree Hill, no one blames her for being a little cautious.

All she _wants _to do is feed him ice cream, tangle her fingers in his larger ones, laugh when he tickles her and pretend to hate his arty, thoughtful films.

But all she _can _do, is text him when she's bored, email him a write up on her designs in E_lle_ and see his face on iChat.

She knows it's worth it, but sometimes, more lately, she wished it wasn't this hard.

He's never been one to waver from her. But sometimes, more lately, he seems to _notice_ more women. Appreciate their silky hair and not look away when they wink at him across the bar. He looks, but he doesn't touch.

And it's beginning to scare him that he doesn't see anything wrong with a few flirty lines and maybe a smile too wide for someone who's in love.

His reasoning is that she's probably doing it too, noticing and appreciating Clayton's muscular calves or even Nathan's cocky smirk, and perhaps a charming man at a bar.

But then he feels guilty, because she' already shoved Clay in the opposite direction, sees Nathan as family, and hardly goes out for fun because she's so wrapped up in him, work and fashion shows.

He doesn't want to become his father, so he won't. But somehow, he knows that reasoning alone won't be good enough, his detest and almost hatred towards his father should not be the sole reason for fidelity. He knows that it's not, but sometimes, more lately, he wishes it wasn't this hard.

His flight is four hours late and she's worried sick, just sitting there with her blackberry clutched in her palm, drinking her sixth cup of coffee, a habit he hates, but couldn't make her break. She's tapping her feet impatiently, just begging there wouldn't be bad news, she's already checked the information centre ten times, and there's no report of a delay or an accident.

He appears twenty five minutes later, all smiley and hair messy in the right places. He hasn't shaved for a week, and she loves stubble on him, but somehow today, it doesn't quite have the same effect.

'Hey babe', and their kiss seems almost done by routine somehow, by habit. It didn't feel special or eager, it just felt like it's always been; like something they _had _to do.

Like a chore.

'Where the hell were you? I've been sitting here for four hours! Worried sick about you, what the hell Julian? I thought you had-'

And she didn't want to tear up and seem all vulnerable to him, despite him knowing that she is, despite loving every version of her.

But she did anyway.

' Whatever, you should have told me, find your own ride home.'

He didn't even get a chance to apologize and explain, that he was too wrapped up in reading _Vanity Fair_'s five page spread of her new line that he didn't hear the final boarding call to Tree Hill, and ended up having to wait for the next flight out.

Sometimes, more lately, he wished she wasn't so stubborn.

But despite being at odds, he's still able to climb back into their bed that night and hold her, whispering mutters of apology and dropping feather like kisses on her shoulders.

This time, however, she didn't tighten her hold on his hands, and simply squeezed her tears back in and pretended to be asleep.

But they both know she was a night person, and he pretended not to worry when he woke up at 8am to an empty bed and no note.

Despite him being the type to scribble post it notes all over the place, she's taken to that tradition as well.

Just like how he's absorbed her habit of bottling up worries and thoughts that may not be welcomed.

It's been seven months and a half, they're having problems that won't be acknowledged, and having arguments about things that are begging to be left alone.

No one's really taking sides, Nathan and Haley, despite knowing her for longer, doubt that he knows her any less. Lucas and Peyton try to offer advice, but honestly, they've been out of the loop too long to make judgement.

Despite taking quiet weekend trips to Malibu and genuinely feeling blissfully happy during this period of the in between, she can't ignore the pestering insecurity and doubt that's creeping its way back up.

And suddenly he's back in high school and feeling slightly overwhelmed.

One night over leftover takeout, she puts down her chopstick and studies him. His eyes are lingering towards the TV, pretending that news of a new collaboration between his close friend, a screenwriter, with his favourite obscure director doesn't _bother _or _interest _him.

He's getting restless, she can tell. But he already promised her that he'll take a break for a while and not take on work for a few months, maybe a year, just to be with her.

But as the reporter carries on, she doesn't pretend to miss the glint of excitement and arrogance in his eyes.

This project certainly has his name written all over it.

When he takes a shower, she casually flicks through his leather notebook and finds _the movie_'s production details, ideas and brief notes messily scrawled in the handwriting she knows too well.

She doesn't miss his passion, clearly illustrated by his scribbles on a film that probably hasn't passed the stage of negotiations and contracts. And she certainly doesn't miss the bitter red line, drawn by a thick marker in the shape of a cross, all over his ideas and scribbles.

He knew about the movie even before the director did, perhaps. But he abandoned it for _her._

So she tries to fix them the only way she knows how, and slips into the shower, fully facing his form and his grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. She kisses him like it'll be the last, and she allows herself to enjoy the warmth of his tongue massaging her own for a minute or two. Then when he moves his lips to her neck, just like she knew he would, she whispers that she wants him to take the job.

It actually breaks her heart to see him smile so wide, and he whispers _thank you _time and time again as he slides into her, pressing her back against the tile.

He takes her, but still notices the tears that she disguised as just _water._

She's not quite sure if he's so happy that she knows him so well, or whether he's just so glad to be out of this rut with her.

He didn't think he even had to tell her _why_ he's so happy, and it hurts him, time and time again, to have her question the extent of his commitment.

He's going to give this movie his best. Not because his friend deserves it, or because the director is one of the few people he actually gets tongue tied and star struck around, but because he _owes _it to her to be the best.

And when it comes down to _reasons_, he just wants her to be proud of him.

Even when they're not being the best versions of each other, separately and together. He still wants her to smile and nod, he wants her eyes to twinkle and for her to never stop talking about him.

He's _all _hers, but he doesn't quite know how to explain that he is also devoted to his passion. He wants to tell her that because she loves him, she needs to love _all _of him, like he does with her, and stand by him when he's being competitive, arrogant, driven and a _guy _too.

He wants her to know that he _would _give it all up for her, but he just doesn't _want _to. He really wants to tell her, but sometimes, more lately, it's becoming harder to organize his thoughts and make her understand.

They've passed the seven months for a while now, and Brooke finds herself ironically wondering if they'll reach the seven year itch, if they were barely staggering through the seven _month _blues. They're currently at 8 months, well, they reached 8 months separately, more than together. He's mostly been based in Spain for this gritty new film, and she's been frantically using up her miles, and earning new ones, between New York, occasionally London, LA and Tree Hill. For a jet set fashion mogul, she's strangely attached to Tree Hill, although almost everybody's moved on, she can't quite bring herself to cut ties with the town.

She thinks it's because, a cursed town or not, it's always been constant.

Right now, her usual source of constant is wavering more than ever, and she thinks her heart's kind of breaking.

She knows what she got herself into, she knows she could have easily escaped it, but it was a risky leap that has meant everything, and quite a bit more to her. Her heart still races in fear when she thinks back to a time when she was afraid to let him in, what a fool. But sometimes, more lately, she wants him, not just his voice or his emails and attached pictures of the 'gorgeous sunset', the Spanish beers and the 'wish you were heres'.

She's burying herself in sketches, photo shoots and interviews. Her line has never been better, but she wishes he was there, front row or backstage at her shows, seeing how much the world _loves _her work.

Because at this moment, she's not quite sure if he still does.

He calls her one night, laughing drunkenly at something and telling her he misses her terribly. But the sounds of music and chatty Spanish girls says otherwise. It was at this moment, where she snaps and decides that it's simply enough.

It was late, like 3am late. She's drunk, and dissappointed in herself that she allowed that cute guy to come a bit too close and grazed his lips with hers. She's angry that Julian's face and smell overtook her senses and made her push that guy away, literally. She _hates _that he's not around and that she' being this pathetic weakling who's so in love it's _painful_.

It was almost as painful as the other car, speeding too quickly and having too much fun to crash into hers, immediately smashing her face to the car window.

Haley called him (before she called Lucas and Peyton), words of 'accident', 'drinking' and 'reckless driver' all strung together and he actually knew, at that moment, how it felt to have your life ripped away from you.

He wanted to throw up, to kill the guy who was driving, to yell at her for drinking, but he ended up taking the next flight to LA, then a domestic to Tree Hill, and cried all the way to the hospital.

She fluttered her eyes open, wincing momentarily at the shooting pain _everywhere_, to find his red eyes, swollen from stress and tears, piercing into his. She didn't say anything, and heard a light sob that managed to set off a fresh batch of tears in her eyes as well. His larger hand clutches hers, and he buries his face on her lap.

They didn't need to say anything, they didn't have to.

It was honestly the best conversation they've had in a while, and she doesn't know if it was a good thing that an accident brought them together again.

But she's glad it did anyway, because although her leg's still broken, her flawless face bruised and wounded, she feels like she's already _healed. _

That night, over jello and candy bars from the vending machine, she admitted that she's glad he's here, and in a way, glad that the accident happened, otherwise he wouldn't be here.

And he feels worse than a murderer, than a guilty rapist, a cheater and a thief all rolled in one. But he thinks they've been treading the testing waters for too long now, and despite wanting Brooke to heal first before having this overdue discussion, he needs to get it all out before he loses his mind.

'I should have known you were hurting, I mean, I did, but I chose to ignore it, I don't know why. I know it makes me a bad guy, but I just need you to know that you were _it _for me the entire time. Even when you doubted it, questioned my commitment, I've _loved you just as fiercely _as I did when I started feeling this way. And I know that sometimes love isn't enough, and that these speeches may not really amount to anything, or make up for what I did, but you just scared me so much with the accident, and I just- I felt like-'

Her lips captured his, making him choking on his words as her tongue boldly caresses his, her hands wandered down to the buckle of his belt, despite him still pressed into the visitor chair beside her bed, her hands reached his zipper and as their tongues continue their battle of love and frustration, her wounded fingers caresses him lightly, and he feels like losing control.

'Brooke, we can't, you can't-'

'Shut up, I just need to feel you, to know you're right here'

And as he lets her _dazzle _him, he pulls away from her lips and presses a wet kiss to her neck, the moisture of sweat, his lips and tears forming a puddle of its own on the skin that separates the rest of her body from her wounded face.

'I'm so sorry, Brooke, shit Brooke, I'm so fucking sorry'

And she knows that he's apologizing for everything, and that he _knows _why she was drunk that night.

But suddenly it didn't matter anymore. He was here, and at this moment, she's never felt a love so strong, as she continues to stroke him, without wanting anything in return, she can honestly say that she is willing to give up _everything and everyone _for him.

The way he shrugged when she asked how the movie was doing, when they were almost falling asleep told her that he would do the same.

They've reached the eleventh month now, and despite her bruises and wounds and aches not disappearing completely just yet, she feels more rested, more steady, more assured.

He's only started to fly back and forth to resume to the film, and she's been avoiding the press, and sketching in her house mostly. It's almost as if her accident served as a reminder for them to take action, to perhaps do things differently, to make things _better. _

One night whilst they're lying in _their _bed, formally hers, snuggling and pressing light kisses, he decides to break the breezy, light hearted atmosphere with _honesty._

' We weren't exactly what we could have been, these past few months.'

'I know.'

'But we're trying, _I'm trying_ to be better, and I'm fighting harder than I ever have before, I need you to know that, okay?'

She nods, and caresses his thumb as a confirmation to his doubt.

Their love languages are different; he expresses his love and care through words, and she through touch.

'And I just want to ask you, I mean, you can just let me know, drop me a note or something, or whatever.'

Her voice is soft, gentle, not mocking.

'Ask me what Julian?'

He hesitates briefly, before meeting her loving eyes.

' If you're still willing to fight with me.'

Despite sounding a tad bit cheesy that she tried to suppress a chuckle, she realized it was merely a question of her _love, commitment and devotion._

What they have could become _forever._

It kind of already has.


End file.
